


The Ties That Bind Us...(Literally)

by NixandNox (NixtheSixth)



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: F/M, Funzie handcuffs, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spoilers for Battle Ground, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27364930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixtheSixth/pseuds/NixandNox
Summary: [Spoilers for Batte Ground!]Lara and Harry come to an..."understanding." Handcuffs are involved because Harry's a Control Freak and Lara's a Monster.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Lara Raith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	The Ties That Bind Us...(Literally)

Sleeping with Lara Raith was a stupid, _dangerous_ , idea. 

I knew that. 

She knew that. 

Hell, I’m pretty sure anything with a functioning nervous system knew that. 

_Buuuuut_ , Mab had insisted that it happen; had said that if we _didn’t_ do it, our marriage wouldn’t be considered “legitimate” by The Old Ways. (Which to Mab meant the “true” or “real” way of doing things.) 

And considering my options for openly defying my boss were either being turned into a popsicle or letting The White Council of Wizards have their way with me, I opted for the option I _hoped_ would leave me with the least amount of scars, physically or otherwise. 

Which is how I found myself handcuffed to the headboard of Lara Raith’s soft, comfortable, antique bed while the queen of Whampires took my pants off. 

The handcuffs had been Molly’s idea because _apparently_ I’m a control freak and my hindbrain would have done its damnest to escape Lara’s clutches as soon as I got my feet under me. 

I didn’t like handcuffs; didn’t particularly enjoy being bound, if I’m being honest, but Molly had a point and I at least knew what to _do_ with handcuffs if I needed to escape them. 

I knew Lara had been in a variety of bondage films and had the appropriate gear to go with them, but considering I could _barely_ stand to even hold her hand in public, the handcuffs were our compromise to “starting small.” 

(Elaine had been the one to rid me of Murphy’s protection. That’s a story for another time, but suffice it to say that Elaine understood dealing with Fairy Bullshit after spending so many years in Aurora’s court and after she got done laughing at me and insisting I buy her dinner for her “trouble,” we shared a lovely little evening together.) 

I had to admit, all things considered, Lara had been remarkably on good behavior all evening. When I wasn’t constantly reminding myself of what she was; reminding myself to be careful around her; to take caution in every moment I spent in her presence, it was relatively easy to forget all of the good and logical reasons _why_ I needed to fear her in the first place. 

In the brief, fleeting moments that we didn’t treat another as Monster and Slayer or Predator and Prey, she could be _incredibly_ charming and even, on occasion, _down right funny_ if the mood struck her. 

It was an odd place to be in my relationship with her. 

Lara had told me early on in our “arrangement” that she had no intentions of making me into a puppet like her father, or even Thomas (although she _fiercely_ argued the necessity of _that_ dichotomy), because 1) she didn't believe that Mab would allow her to subjugate her knight in such a fashion (because then what good would I be to either of them?) and 2) Lara didn't see the reason to go through all of the hub-bub of getting married (especially so publicly) to someone who couldn't be a _real_ and legitimate partner to her. 

Lara and I still very much intended to lead separate lives, but for the times that we _did_ have to come together and function as a unit, the _least_ we could do and for another was be good to the other. 

Mab had seemed to buy what Lara was selling, so all I had to do was Shut Up and Take It, apparently. And all for the low, low, cost of a human soul and some dignity.

So there I was; handcuffed to a bed, and sighing in frustration at a woman wearing designer lingerie more expensive than _my car. (And all of the repair bills!)_

Lara smiled sweetly at me, a mischievous gleam in her soft gray eyes. "You know," she purred, "this would go a lot faster if you would straighten your leg and let me finish pulling this off you." 

I smiled back with entirely too much teeth. "Ya know," I spat back, "this would go _a lot faster_ if you had let me get fully undressed _before_ you decided to handcuff me to the dang headboard." 

Lara softly rolled her eyes and continued trying to work my jeans down past my knees. "If you'll recall, _my dear husband_ , I did offer you that, but you were taking too long. It's six pieces of clothing, including both socks, Harry. It shouldn't have taken you _thirty minutes_ to remove them." 

" _Husband-to-be,_ " I grumped back, "and maybe I'm shy, ok? You're basically sex in a bottle and maybe I just like taking sips before I get doused in the gatorade cooler, ok?" 

Lara snorted with amusement and then yanked at both sides of my jeans at the same time, forcing my legs to become straight of their own volition. "Harry," she crooned, almost sing-song in her tone, "Anyone who doesn't know how to take things slow while both parties are completely naked is an amateur and a child, at best." 

She looked at me, holding my jeans in one hand like a poacher might hold a dead, endangered bird, "Do you think either title qualifies for me?" 

I didn't answer her. 

Realistically, I knew that being naked in front of this woman shouldn't bother me; sex was _literally_ her bread and butter, but I didn't like being put on display, as it were, for her. If we had to do the sex thing, why the need for all the foreplay? 

We could both just close our eyes and think of England, right? 

Right. 

I tried and failed not to flinch when she ran a manicured nail down the length of my front through the boxer shorts. The bonds at my wrists itched, despite the soft fur lining on the inside of them to prevent the metal from cutting me. 

She hummed thoughtfully to herself as she examined me and mused aloud, although more to herself, "Spidey's cute and all, but I would have personally gone with Venom, to be honest. Black is such a slimming color and it might be more suited for what you're here to do tonight." 

I stared at her and blinked several times in quick succession. " _You're a Marvel fan?"_ I demanded. 

She cocked her head at me, puzzled, "I'm into a little bit of everything. Marvel, DC, Darkhorse, Wizards of the Coast; you never know who's hiding in the Nerd Closet and besides, I helped raise Thomas. I had to figure out what little boys were into." 

She slid smoothly off me and went to the ice bucket near the window then. As I watched, she poured two healthy glasses of wine and put a disposable bendy straw in one. 

I wasn't sure what to say to her. Lara Raith, _secret nerd?_ C'mon. 

To make matters even worse, as she neared the bed again to put the drinks on the nightstand, I realized she was very softly singing "The Ninja Turtles" theme song to herself. _The Original one. From the 80s_.

She offered me the glass with the straw in it and tried to bring the straw to my lips. "Ah," she said, "going to be a good boy and drink for me?" 

I moved my head away from the straw, "You've seen the original Ninja Turtles cartoon?" 

She nodded, "And all the movies. And the original Power Rangers. And the original Transformers, although I _hated_ the reboots. Ugh. Such a waste." 

I eyed her suspiciously, “ _I will not be taken in by your pop culture references, evil devil woman._ ” 

She again rolled her eyes gently at me and swung the straw around the other side of the glass before attempting to offer it to me again. 

I jerked away from it and said, “You’re not supposed to drink wine with a straw; everybody knows _that._ ” 

She took a delicate sip out of her own glass before asking, “Would you prefer I waterboard you with it then?” 

Her tone was dry, but her face held soft amusement. 

Trying to reply in a similar tone, I asked, “Why are you trying to get me drunk? What’s in it?” 

She tipped more of her own glass back, “Alcohol. From somewhere on the German side of the Rhine, if I recall correctly. And I’m not trying to get you drunk; I’m trying to get you the tiniest bit _tipsy._ I was hoping that getting you tipsy would make you relax and make this entire process easier to bear because I know this makes you uncomfortable.” 

I shifted uneasily in my bounds, “If you know that it makes me uncomfortable, then why do it?” 

I clarified before she had the chance to speak, “I mean, I get that we have to….ya know... _do it_ and all, but why does it have to be _like this?_...Can’t we...I dunno, find a more _natural_ way to go about this?” 

In response to my question, Lara positioned herself around my lower right thigh and sat back on her haunches, so she could sip her wine and consider what I had asked. 

Swirling the wine in her glass a little bit, she finally said, “No, I _don’t_ think we could go about this another way, honestly. You don’t trust me-,” she held up a hand to stop any commentary I might have had, “-and even if I understand your reasoning as to why, that’s all essentially irrelevant now. We must proceed with this course of action, regardless of our personal feelings, because of what’s at stake, but you can’t help but look at me and think that I’m going to eat you. Or try to, in any case.” 

She held a finger to my lips as she finished her glass and set it back on the nightstand. Settling herself back around my thigh, she continued, “I _get_ why you’re af-” (here, she cut herself off mid-word), “why you’re _cautious_ around me, Harry, I do, but the whole point of this exercise,” and here, she gestured to the handcuffs, “is to demonstrate to you that you can be sexual... _initimate_ even, around me without issue.” 

She leaned forward into me, almost close enough to kiss me, her eyes bright with a glimmer that had _nothing_ to do with her Hunger, and said very softly, “You don’t _have_ to trust me implicitly here, but can you at least give me enough rope to hang myself with before you kick the box out from under me?” 

My mouth suddenly felt very dry and I swallowed a few times without much success. “I’d like a sip of that wine now,” I whispered, “if you wouldn’t mind.” 

She arched away from me, making a point to show off the long line of her body, which, admittedly, was appreciated, and retrieved my forlorned wine glass from the night stand. 

I didn’t recognize the wine, but it was sweet, if a little dry, and she let me sip the glass at my own pace.

She didn’t put any weight on my thigh as she settled around it again; it was just the warmth of bare skin touching the naked flesh of another except where the strings of her garter belt attached to her stockings.

The expression on her face was calm, if distant, as she helped me consume the wine. It seemed like she could have stayed there all night, infinitely patient while I decided if I was going to let her consume me in turn. 

Once I reached half of the glass, I reluctantly pulled away from the straw and deliberately laid back into the pillow she had placed beneath me. 

I felt _fuzzy_ , but not necessarily in a bad way, and in a way I had come to expect from imbuing that much alcohol in a short amount of time. 

“Ok,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse, “so what do we do now?”

In lieu of answering my question, Lara set the glass back on the nightstand and then carefully positioned herself slightly above my knees. From there, she slipped two fingers of each hand into the waistband of my boxers on either of my hips and quirked an eyebrow. 

I nodded jerkily toward her and then pointedly looked away. _Ok. So we're doing this._

She barely touched me at all as she pulled the boxers down the length of my body, but where she did touch, her hands were gentle and soft. 

It felt odd to be so starkly naked in front of her, but before I could vocalize my discomfort, she did two things that surprised me; 1) she pulled the top blanket of the bed up around herself like a batman cloak, which provided us both with a measure of modesty and warmth, and 2) she reached over me to lower a small lever I hadn’t noticed before on the nightstand. 

As the lever moved, the overhead lights dimmed, leaving the only major light source in the room to be the small, shaded desk lamp on the far wall. 

It would have almost seemed romantic if I could get my heart to stop trying to beat its way out of my throat. 

Lara poised herself above me again, wiggling one of her knees in between mine, but before she lowered herself against me, she tilted her head and asked, “Does the lingerie bother you?” 

It took me several tries to clear my throat enough to speak, “Um, what?” 

“The lingerie,” she repeated, softly and calmly, “Does it bother you? As in, does it itch? I can take it off if you prefer.” 

I blinked at her several times and then finally nodded, dumbfounded. This was admittedly not how I had expected sex with the Queen of all things Succ-and-Bye to go, but if she was willing to put us on even footing, _sure, why not?_

Lara seemed to be considering something as she slid off the bed because she kept glancing between me and the chair at her desk, but she finally came to a decision about it with a small nod and she stripped as she walked to the chair with an almost businesslike briskness. 

She called over her shoulder to me as she neatly folded the items as she removed them, “I’m willing to give you a full ‘dinner and show’ later if you want, but I figured you might not be in the right frame of mind to appreciate them tonight.” 

My night vision was relatively good and she was _breathtakingly beautiful_ , but she had a point. Even with the wine, my anxiety about the whole affair was making it difficult to keep an erection, let alone do anything interesting with it. 

With the last of her items placed in the seat of the chair, Lara rummaged through her top desk drawer for a moment before looping something over her right wrist and then casually strolled back to the bed. 

I could have spent all night watching her walk around. I knew she wasn’t using any of her vampire whiles on me, but she knew how to do that artful lean that runway models pull off where every part of her leg was required in order to move forward. 

She had _very_ pretty legs. Sue me. 

(Ok, she had very pretty _everything_ , but I focused on her legs because it seemed like that’s what she wanted me to look at and focusing on her legs also quieted the little screaming voice in my head that kept repeating “ _You’re about to have sex with Lara Raith AND THEN SHE’S GOING TO EAT YOU.”_ ) 

She paused by the bed for a moment, letting me enjoy my look with a soft, knowing smile on her lips, and then she hopped back up, under the covers, and settled between my legs again. With the way my hands had been bound to the headboard, our only option for the actual penetration part would be for her to ride me. (Unless she knew some weird/freaky sex positions that I didn’t. It _was_ Lara, so it was possible.) 

Once she had made herself comfortable between my knees, we spent several moments not saying anything. 

I couldn’t look directly at her, both embarrassed to be examined in such a way and also knowing that she could probably hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears. It might have been because I was actively avoiding looking her directly in the face, but I caught several micro-twitches as she catalogued all of the bumps and scars I had accumulated during my career as the Wizard of Chicago. 

She started at my collarbones, moving her hands slowly down the length of my body, never actually touching me, but still close enough that I could feel the warmth from her fingertips. 

I twitched involuntarily when she reached my lower ribs and moved toward my belly button; it tickled and I grumbled at her, “Stop that.” 

She giggled without really making a sound and softly dragged her nails down either side of my midsection before changing direction to the outside of my hips with either hand and then removed her hands all together. 

She scooted her way just past my knees and paused for a moment, revealing two normal, thin, black hair ties on her wrist and used one of them to put her hair up in a high, no-nonsense type ponytail. 

She laid flush with the bed for a moment, putting her head against my right thigh, and settled the blankets around us again. She almost looked like a little kid at a sleepover when she threw the blanket over her head and blew a soft raspberry at me before flipping the edge of it down around her shoulders like the mantle of a coat. 

Seemingly satisfied with the placement of the comforter, Lara took a moment to prop herself half up on her elbows and look at what was on display before her. 

I, admittedly, was not at my best because of the aforementioned nervousness, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

With an almost leisurely amount of indifference, she ran the pads of both thumbs along the inner sides of my thighs and gently spread my legs wider beneath her. When she had reached a point that made her happy, she _nuzzled_ into the crook of where my right hip became thigh. I jumped at the sensation without meaning to, but she had seemed to expect that, and as such, moved me back into position with a small push from her other hand. 

The sensation was _odd_ , not quite tickling, but also not inherently _pleasurable,_ per se. Since it wasn’t actively causing me discomfort though, I kept quiet and tried to stay where she put me, curious where she’d go with it. 

I was about to tell her to stop; the ends of her hair were finally pushing things over the tickle line, when she suddenly (albeit softly) bit down on my thigh and sucked like she was trying to give me a hickey. 

In my youth, I had once (briefly) touched an electric fence by accident. With the way Lara _delightfully_ attacked my thigh, I was briefly reminded of the experience. A jolt of _something_ , electricity, pleasure, sheer surprise; _something_ , shot through my entire body and I flinched in place without meaning too. 

Lara released the tender flesh with a soft _Pop_ and lazily licked it while I writhed beneath her. I honestly couldn’t describe my response to what she did as anything other than ‘positive’, but I was abruptly standing at full mast and she seemed _quite_ content with that. 

She rubbed one cheek along the length of my shaft like a cat scent marking a door and paused to look at me with her mouth open in a small, soft O against the underside of the head. 

It was hard (har har) to look down the length of my body at her, but I finally groused out, “Yeah?” 

She moved back from me just enough to speak, “How much manhandling do you prefer?” 

_Why was she asking me for reasonable thought? Could she not see where all my dang blood had gone? I’m not even trying to be vain about it, but the damn thing isn’t small-_

Lara seemed to grasp my state of disorientation and _very helpfully_ made it about 10 times worse by sticking out the tip of her tongue and running it down the length of the shaft until she hit the base and then broadened the tip so she could lick her way back to her former position like I was giant popsicle. 

Her headboard creaked a little as I flexed involuntarily in my bonds. 

“How much,” she repeated, peppering the underside of my shaft in equal measure with butterfly kisses as she did so, “manhandling do you prefer?” 

She pressed her nose into the base for a moment and then deliberately breathed out, forcing me to shiver at the sensation of the sudden warmth in the air. 

“Do you like having all the bits played with,” she asked, almost conversationally as she ran a hand down the length of me, “or just the dick? I can do both, but I prefer to cater to preference.” 

Her headboard creaked again. “Lara,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and mostly in the same octave, “I think you’re...overestimating how much….cognitive thought I have going for me right now….I, uh...if you could use your mouth, that’d be great. No teeth. Teeth are bad. Nails...down there...are bad.” 

I felt, rather than saw, her smile at me and she deliberately let her lower lip drag up against me as she raised herself the top of the head again. 

“Harry,” she breathed, “I’m gonna need you to lie back and relax a little for me.” 

I stared at the ceiling above her bed from the gap in between my clasped hands. “Why?” I squeaked. 

_(Look, don’t judge until you’ve been there. I’d like to see **you** do better, ok?) _

Her tongue flicked in and out a few times as she considered how to answer my question, “Because,” she finally said at last, “if this goes right, I intend to make you a little religious...and I don’t want you to break something. Yourself, the headboard, or the bed frame included.” 

I honestly can’t tell you what I would have said next because her mouth closed over the top of me and I suddenly saw stars. 

<< Ok, look, full disclosure; I am not what one might call a “sexually advanced” individual. I’ve had sex, with multiple people, albeit not at the same time, and it was _good._ It was _fun._ I feel that I’ve done it enough that I’m allowed to have a formed, if somewhat lacking, _educated_ opinion about what I like and what I don’t. 

I knew enough about sex and how _I_ liked to have it that I could tell you that Murphy was _good._ Elaine, especially given the last time I had seen her, was _good._ (And I could make the parallels to express the difference in her abilities since we had been in high school.) 

I say all of that to say this: Lara was _extraordinary._

 _AND she wasn’t even using her evil Whampire wiles._ >>

I knew, down to my bones, that Lara wasn’t using any of her evil _Vampire_ tricks on me because in the brief moments of sanity that did possess me and I could actually look down at her, her eyes were almost blue in the flashes that they were open and she could look back up at me. 

She _was,_ however, using _all_ of her evil _pornstar come-hither-mortal-men_ tricks on me. 

I can’t honestly tell you how long I laid there, thrashing and keening beneath her, but it felt like microcosms of eternity. 

My hands had come down at some point, although I still wore a cuff around either wrist. I couldn’t tell if she had taken them down or if I had, but we briefly warred over possession of my waist as I tried to pull her up the length of my body and she fought to stay where she was. 

She won, but only because she still had ahold of my nearest and dearest and she had leverage over me. 

She finally sat up enough to put one hand in the center of my chest and pushed me flat against the mattress again. “ _Harry,”_ she snapped, in a tone cold enough to chill the near animalistic bloodlust coursing inside me, “ _Breathe. Be still. Let me finish what I’m doing._ ” 

It took two tries for me to say anything that even _remotely_ sounded like English, “But I wanna be inside you. Please. _I need it._ ”

She smiled at me in such a _deliciously_ evil way that all I could think about was _warm, blood soaked, caramel brownies._

“We’ll get there,” she purred, moving into position to take me in her mouth again, “ _on the second round._ This is all about _you_ , Harry. _Enjoy it…..I swallow._ ” 

I briefly couldn’t hear after her final comment and I bucked my hips against her without meaning too. 

She laughed at me and then gently licked me up and down again to give herself material enough to slide. 

She paused at the head again and said, softly, but clearly, “I don’t mind you finishing without warning, but if you pull my hair or _force_ my head down, I’m going to bite you. Do you understand me?” 

I could only nod wordlessly in reply. 

What killed me the most was the feeling of hitting the back of her throat on the downward strokes. I wasn’t sure I had _ever_ been successfully or consistently deepthroated before, but the texture of it had a softness that I had never known before. 

I sank both hands into the comforter hard enough that my knuckles turned white in an effort to abide by her rules, but my hips undulated beneath her of their accord. 

She didn’t seem to mind though and even briefly followed the movement before focusing on a spot just under the head on the underside. 

She would later describe the gesture to me as ‘like trying to force goyurt out of the tube with a pressure bubble’ (I had asked), but in that moment, all I could think about was how _good_ it felt and how much I was going to _murder her_ if she didn’t stop soon. 

The human body’s just not meant to run on that much euphoria, ok?

I honestly tried to give her warning before I came, but whether I was speaking _any_ language known to human beings or not, she got the message and responded accordingly. 

For the record, it was _wonderful_ and I spent several long moments wondering if my soul had briefly ascended. 

As ways to die go, that wouldn’t have been a bad one and I would have even told Mr. Sunshine that he needed to go get himself some of that on my way up; that’s how good I felt. 

I don’t know how long I lay there, trying to reorient my sense of self, but when I finally felt comfortable enough to open my eyes again, Lara had changed into some soft, but comfortable looking pajamas and was standing next to the bed with a damp cloth in one hand. 

“Is it alright if I clean you or would you prefer to do it yourself?” she asked, her tone almost bubbly with its brightness. 

I sat up slowly and rubbed at my face. I didn’t remember yelling, or even getting loud, but my throat felt scratchy and raw. 

I held my hand out for the cloth. “I’ll do it,” I mumbled. 

“Let me see your wrists first then,” she said, pressing the cloth into my hand. 

I tightened my grip on the cloth and put both wrists together for her, palms up. She hooked a finger onto either side of each cuff and pulled them in apart in turn. She then dumped the broken halves into a small trash can beside her bed. 

She tried to peer at my wrists again, but made a deliberate point _not_ to touch me. “Will you need lotion or anything? I can’t tell how badly you scratched yourself in the process.” 

I rubbed the skin of my right wrist with the thumb of my left hand and tucked both hands in close to my body. “It’s fine,” I replied, trying to keep my tone polite, “I’ll be fine. It’s just a little tender. And a lot better than the cops have ever done me, that’s for sure.” 

Lara smiled a little at me and nodded, moving to sit in the chair at her desk. The clothes she had placed in it earlier were gone. 

I couldn't tell if she was deliberately giving herself busy work or not, but she turned entirely away from me and gave me the semblance of privacy while she did... whatever it was on her desk. 

I was mostly no worse for wear, aside the tiniest beginning of a bruise on my thigh where she had sucked me. I retrieved my underwear from where they had been tossed to the floor, put them on, and tried to reassemble the mountain of pillows that had seemingly gone down with them.

Lara seemed to be deliberately ignoring me until I acknowledged her, so I bundled myself back into the covers and coughed gently. "So, uh," I began, "is this part where I put clothes back on and go home, or…?" 

Lara turned to me, throwing one arm over the back of her chair to do so, "Or?" 

I shifted in the blankets, uneasy by how _normal_ the entire conversation suddenly felt. "Well, uh," I said, clearing my throat, "you did just kinda suck the soul out of me and this _is_ your room, so I didn't know if there's a...uh, protocol or something that I'm supposed to observe here." 

I hesitated for a moment, chewing on my lower lip, and then added, "I mean, you don't really seem like the cuddlin' type." 

I watched whatever Lara had been _about to say_ stutter skip across her face and then she quirked an almost Spock-worthy brow at me. She stood, slowly, deliberately, and let her hair down in the same gesture. 

"I don't seem like the cuddlin' type," she repeated, amused. "Well, maybe that's because you've never asked me if I _like_ to cuddle or not, Harry, _darling._ " 

I blinked at her several times and then pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. (Shut up, I was _not_ huddling and you can't prove otherwise.) 

"Well," I said, trying to keep my tone casual, "Uh, _do you like cuddling?_ " 

She smiled and walked closer to the bed again. "I do; the only reason I didn't suggest it earlier is because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." 

"And if I had said it would make me uncomfortable?" 

She tilted her head at me, studying my face, "Does it?" 

I shifted in place, trying not to flinch under her gaze. "Well, no," I stammered, "but, ya know, _if it did_ , what would you have done?... I'm just curious." 

She crossed her arms and hummed thoughtfully for a moment, "If it made you uncomfortable, I would have pointed out where the towels are kept in the bathroom, wished you a good night, and gone and slept in one of the guest bedrooms." 

I jerked at that, "You would have given your room up for me?" 

She looked at me blankly for a couple of heartbeats and then nodded, although obviously confused, "Well, I mean, yes? You were already here, my darling, and... everything you need is here. Putting you anywhere else in the house would require directions, at least a little bit." 

I felt myself staring back at her with the same, confused expression, "You...you were intending for me to...to stay here tonight. In this room?" 

She huffed out a small, annoyed breath at me, "Well, _yes._ Obviously. We had made plans to... _get on with it_ and most people don't get up out of that bed unless I want them too. So it was just assumed _I_ would move if it was necessary." 

She scratched the underside of her scalp and fluffed the ends out in a way very reminiscent to what Thomas would do when stressed. "The whole point of this, Harry," she said, deliberately spacing her words, almost like she were speaking to someone 'slow', "was to prove to you that you could trust me-" she held a hand up before I could interrupt her, " _I understand that definition does not imply implicitly_ , but I wanted to prove to you that you could be comfortable _in my home_ and _around me_ , at least a little." 

She sat on the edge of the bed and fluffed her hair again, "The cat and mouse game is fun and all, but it gets very _tiring_ at the end of the day and if we're going to be stuck in this situation together, shouldn't we be able to have at least _a few_ moments alone together without having to have our back up?" 

She looked at me then, searching my face for... something. Rejection, I suppose. 

Sleeping with Lara Raith was _dangerous and stupid._ Trusting her was probably idiotic on a level I couldn't even fully fathom. 

_But_ , that being said, she _couldn't_ hurt me or miam me in a way that would actually destroy me or make me useless to Mab. The evil, wicked queen of Fairies simply wouldn't allow it. 

And in the event that Lara _did_ do something mean or awfully wicked nasty to me, I could pay her back _just in kind._

That was the up and down side to being married, after all. 

Besides, I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty lady in distress and I honestly couldn’t handle the earnest, if a little sad, look on her face. 

Especially not when I was _still_ sitting in a wet spot we had made _on her bed_ because she wanted to be nice to me. 

I looked away from her and sighed, “You’re right. But!” I said, holding up one finger in an authoritative gesture toward her, “if someone’s leaving tonight, it’s gonna be me. I’m not kicking you out of your room; that’s just rude.” 

She smiled at me a little and then opened a drawer on her nightstand, pulling out a small, antique hairbrush. 

“Well,” she said, offering me the brush, “if you’re staying here, scoot over and do my hair for me? It’s always easier to get the knots out with help.” 

I accepted the brush, but refused to move, “The spot I’m in is still messy.” 

She glanced over her shoulder at me and rolled her eyes, “This is _my_ side of the bed, Dresden. Besides, _I’m a Whampire._ It’s not my first time.” 

I scoffed good naturedly at her and scooted over, “I was just tryin’ to be good to you.” 

She shifted her hair and spoke without looking at me, “If you’ll recall, darling, I believe a second round was promised and if things go even _half_ as well as I hope they might, you’ll be _very_ good to me.” 

I smiled as I started working the brush near the roots of her hair like Thomas had shown me how to do. “Well,” I said, trying to keep the smugness out of my voice, “according to Elaine, talking shit is the _second best_ thing I do with my mouth.” 


End file.
